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by Ella Frank
“I’m not keeping things from you,” Bailey said, choosing to ignore the first half of Xander’s question.
“Then what would you call it?”
“You promised not to give me shit.”
“About the guy, not about keeping it from me.”
Bailey brought an arm up to rest it over his eyes and groaned.
“You can bitch and moan all you like, Bay. But you look like shit, which means you haven’t been sleeping, which means you’ve been stressing. Something you wouldn’t have been doing if you had talked to me.”
Damn it. He hated it when Xander was right. He lowered his arm and said, “Sorry, okay?”
“Okay. So start talking. Tell me about this guy.”
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Bailey didn’t know anything about Henri.
Xander chuckled. “Do you at least know his name? Or were you planning to be a total slut that night?”
Bailey aimed a glare in his friend’s direction, which made Xander laugh even harder.
“So, total slut, then.”
“No. I know his name. It’s Henri.”
“Hmm, this Henri guy must’ve been something else to make Saint Bailey look twice.”
“I’m hardly a saint.”
“Agreed. In bed, there’s nothing saintly about you. The problem is, you basically require a ring on your finger to take someone there.”
“Just because I’m picky doesn’t mean I’m a fucking saint. When will you get that through your head? I work hard and have weird hours. Not everyone wants to deal with that.”
“All the more reason to be a little more…flexible, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wonder how your viewers would feel if they heard the serious, trustworthy Alexander Thorne talk this way.”
“I don’t know. I always get emails saying I need to loosen up a little. Maybe I’d get a jump in the ratings? What do you think?”
Bailey rolled his eyes. “You’re already in the number one spot, as if you need any help. People love you, and I thought you wanted to hear about this.”
“I do.” Xander crossed his ankles on the ottoman and placed his hands behind his head. “So just to reiterate. Black hair, leather jacket, rings, and piercings?”
“Pier-cing,” Bailey said, thinking about the small silver ring in Henri’s nose.
“Yeah, I’m going to bet that the guy has more than one. Hundred bucks sound fair?”
“No, because there’s no way we’re ever going to find out.”
Xander let out a booming laugh and clasped his hands over his stomach. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t know anything about this guy.”
“You know his name, and don’t tell me you didn’t look up his address, because I won’t believe you. Plus, if you really need help digging for more info, I happen to be an award-winning journalist, in case you forgot. Between the two of us, we could know everything about him in ten minutes, easy.”
“You’re crazy,” Bailey said as he sat up on the recliner and planted his feet on the ground. “I’m not going to hunt this guy down. That’s stalker behavior. I arrest people like that.” He aimed a pointed look at Xander. “Something you’d do well to remember.”
Xander flashed a grin, and Bailey scrubbed his hands over his face.
“This is ridiculous. I never act like this.”
“No, you don’t.”
“And I don’t even like him.”
“So? Some of the best sex I’ve ever had has been with people I hate.”
“Nice, Xander.”
“I’m just saying, being friends is not a requirement. Knowing his life story is not a requirement. You can’t stop thinking about this guy. So find out his number and call him.”
“And how exactly am I going to do that?” Bailey asked. He supposed Robbie was an option, but he’d flat out said that Henri was a bad idea. So that only left… “I can’t exactly call up Priest and say, ‘Hey, I want to sleep with your ex-boyfriend, could you give me his number?’”
“Why not? I wouldn’t care if someone called me about you.”
“This is different,” Bailey said automatically, and somehow, deep down, he knew that it was. Not only from the way Henri had reacted at the wedding, but also yesterday morning, when Priest had casually called him my Henri.
“Okay, so maybe you go old school and write a letter. Or wait outside his house.”
“How pathetic do you think I am?” When Xander opened his mouth, Bailey shook his head. “Don’t answer that. Plus, are you forgetting the part of this story where he bailed when we were supposed to sleep together? That makes him an ass, and it’s also a pretty good sign that he’s not interested. So anything after that just makes me look desperate.”
Xander sat forward, his eyes taking on that serious glint they got whenever he was on the trail of something hot. “I would agree if he didn’t say what he did when you pulled him over.”
Bailey snorted. “Come on, he was just trying to get out of a speeding ticket.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve been dreamin’ about you. About that night and what it would’ve been like. How many times has someone said that to you to get out of a speeding ticket?” When Bailey said nothing and just stared, Xander smirked. “Exactly.”
The faint sound of his phone chiming from the kitchen made Bailey spring to his feet, not wanting to miss an opportunity to end this conversation.
After making his way into the other room, he scooped it up and noticed a text from a number he didn’t recognize. He punched in his passcode as he walked back into the living room, and as he opened up his messages and read the words on his screen, his feet came to a standstill.
No way. It can’t be…
But as he read the words again, there was no mistaking who the message was from.
So, do I really need to get arrested to see you again? Because I will. Or you could just call me, since you have my number now - Henri.
Chapter Ten
CONFESSION
Knowing the truth and hearing it out loud are two completely different things.
HENRI STARED AT the text he’d just sent off as he climbed into the Aston Martin and pulled the door shut behind him. He’d barely waited until he was in the elevator before he’d sent a message Bailey’s way, and as he willed a reply of some sort to appear in front of him, he tried to push aside the conversation he’d just had with Priest.
Fuck. Henri hated that even after everything they’d been through, things were still so difficult between them. It hadn’t always been like that. Sure, there’d been fights—that was what happened when a tornado met a volcano: things exploded. But somewhere along the way, they’d realized something was missing from what they had. Henri just hated that Priest had worked it out first.
A couple of minutes later, when there was still no response from his cop, Henri shut his eyes, still holding the Post-it note.
Was Priest right? Was Henri being stupid going after Bailey? Thinking only with his dick? Sure, maybe that was part of it, but at the same time, Henri knew that the much bigger part was that he was lonely—so very fucking lonely.
It’d been a long time since he’d met someone who’d really sparked his interest, and considering he couldn’t stop thinking about Bailey before he knew his name, Henri was willing to take a risk to remind himself what it was like to be touched for a night.
He took a deep breath and then let it out, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw the registration slip sitting in the center console. Henri picked it up and reached across the car to flip open the glove box, and as he did, he spotted the only other thing inside the compartment.
It was a five-by-eight photograph. The edges were ratty, the coloring had faded, but the love on the two faces captured in the photo made the image brighter than the fucking sun.
As if it were a bomb about to go off, Henri gingerly reached for the photo and noticed his hand was shaking. He’d known all along it was in the
re. He’d made it a rule to never look at it, to never acknowledge its existence, and he’d promised himself he’d never revisit the time when that photo had been taken.
But as he sat there now, nearly a decade since that moment had been captured, Henri finally picked it up. He finally acknowledged it as real, and let the pain and heartache back inside one last time, in the hopes that he could banish it for good…
HENRI STEPPED OUT of one of the terminals at LAX and decided the number one thing he wouldn’t miss about New Orleans when he moved here was the fucking humidity. It’d been two months since he’d last seen Priest, and he was eager to reunite with his on-again off-again…whatever they were.
As a taxi pulled up at the curb and Henri climbed in, he thought about giving Priest a quick call to check that he was home, but in the end decided to surprise him instead. Something Priest would surely hate but soon get over after Henri took off his clothes and did his best to apologize.
The drive took fifty minutes—traffic in L.A. was shit—but when they finally pulled up at Priest’s apartment building, Henri’s irritation over the long commute vanished. He grabbed his bags and then made his way up several flights of stairs to the apartment he’d been to countless times over the past few years.
He fished out the set of keys Priest had made for him nearly a year ago, and when he unlocked the door and pushed it open, the sight that greeted him was like a sucker punch to his solar plexus. Priest was standing in the center of his living room, his lips devouring another man’s mouth, and hands that were not Henri’s were down the back of Priest’s pants.
The sound of the front door swinging open and hitting the wall alerted the two caught in the lip-lock, and when Priest raised his head and looked over his shoulder, those grey eyes Henri had always loved filled with an expression he’d never seen in them before—guilt.
“Henri.” Priest’s voice was raspier than usual, no doubt due to the arousal he had no hope of hiding in his black lounge pants. “I didn’t know you were flying in today.”
The cool, calm statement was so very Priest-like. It was perfunctory, reasonable, and so left field that Henri found himself answering despite himself. “It was going to be a surprise.”
His eyes then shifted to the other man in the room. He was the same height as Priest and had one of the most flawless faces Henri had ever seen. His eyes were the color of gemstones, jade, and right now they were full of shame.
Henri brought his attention back to Priest. “Clearly, you’re surprised.”
Priest took a step toward him, and Henri took one back. Seeming to understand that Henri didn’t want him any closer, Priest stopped and took in a breath. As he let it out, he ran a hand through his thick auburn hair and sighed.
“Henri, I was going to call you…”
As those six clichéd words left Priest’s lips, Henri’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You were going to call me? Call me and tell me what, exactly?”
It wasn’t as though the two of them were in any kind of permanent relationship, were they? Priest didn’t owe him any sort of explanation. In fact, Henri had known Priest was seeing other people, which was why he’d planned to tell him how he felt today.
But for Priest to display such obvious remorse at being caught with whoever this was must mean he was someone important, which made Henri want some kind of fucking explanation—now.
“Can we talk about this for a minute?” Priest said. “Just the two of us?”
Henri’s eyes once again cut to the man who remained silent behind Priest. “I don’t think so. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your…guest?”
“I think it would be better if—”
“If what?” Henri demanded, his attention now returning to Priest. “If I shut my mouth and wait in the corner while you kiss him goodbye? Yeah, not gonna happen.”
Priest’s jaw clenched, and Henri couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at him or himself. “Julien, this is Henri. Henri, this is Julien.”
The name was a familiar one. Henri had heard Priest talk about this Julien guy in the past. How he’d caught him stealing his car, had to bail him out of jail, how he drove Priest out of his ever-loving mind. But he’d conveniently left out how stunning Julien was, and just how much Priest apparently loved kissing him.
Julien stepped forward, a tight expression on his face. “Bonjour, Henri. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
So apparently Henri wasn’t the only one in the room that Priest had been keeping informed. “I wish I could say the same, but I don’t make it a habit to lie.”
“Henri.” Priest aimed a pointed look in his direction, and Henri shrugged. “Right, that’s it.” Priest stalked over to where Henri stood in the front entrance of the apartment, grabbed hold of the handle on Henri’s duffel bag, and went to yank it out of his hand.
But Henri wasn’t having any of that; he tightened his grip around the handles and hauled it back toward himself, and when Priest came with it and they were practically nose to nose, Henri’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I suppose I should be flattered—my replacement and I are very similar, from what you told me.”
Priest’s mouth fell open, but when no words came out, Henri gave an unaffected shrug. “I mean, I get it—he’s hot. I would’ve given up years of friendship and trust to fuck him too. You think he’d let me have a go?”
A feral sound vibrated through Priest, and it was that moment, that protective instinct he displayed in response to a threat in Julien’s direction, that told Henri that whatever he and Priest had had was now over.
“I understand that you’re pissed off. But you need to watch your mouth,” Priest said, before he lowered his gaze to the bag between them and let go. “You should’ve told me you were coming.”
“Why? So you could rush him out the door, hide him a little longer?”
“I wasn’t hiding him. You knew about him.”
“Yeah, but you left a few fucking details out, didn’t you?”
“I was going to tell you the next time I saw you.”
“Joel,” Julien said, and the sound of Priest’s birth name in that soft, gentle tone made Henri want to hit something. “I think it might be best if I leave.”
No shit, Henri thought, and almost added, Pity you didn’t do that last night, last week, the first time you ran into my damn boyfriend. But at the last second, Henri bit his tongue, because that was the fucking problem here, wasn’t it? He’d never been Priest’s boyfriend, never been his partner, or had any claim on him at all. All he’d ever been was a casual fuck, and this ending proved it.
“Nah, you stay. I’m gonna go,” Henri said. “It’s clear who Joel wants here, and it’s not me.”
Henri took a step back, and as he turned to leave, he felt as though he were a robot. His feet and legs were moving, but nothing else was computing. He couldn’t believe what had just happened, and halfway down the stairs, he heard footsteps following.
“Henri,” Priest called out.
But Henri was done listening. He’d seen and heard too much as it was, and all he needed now was to get far away from the man who had just ripped his heart out.
Henri walked toward the parking lot, where he could call a taxi and peace the fuck out. But halfway there, strong fingers found his wrist and pulled him around until he was face to face with Priest.
“Would you stop for a fucking minute? Let me talk to you, explain what’s going on.”
“What is there to explain, Joel? I’m not stupid; I’ve got eyes, and anyone with half a brain can see that whatever I walked in on means a hell of a lot more to you than what you just let walk out your door.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
Henri took a step forward until Priest had to crane his neck to look up at him. “All I know is that you moved on and didn’t have the balls to tell me.”
“Moved on? Moved on from what? This constant fighting? Because that’s what we’ve become really good at, Henri: fighting. Whenever you visit, wh
enever you go, we’re always at each other, and the only reason I can think of is because I know what you’re going back to.”
Priest’s chest was heaving as he stood waiting for Henri to say something, and when he couldn’t, Priest continued. “You’re going back there. To the one place I want to forget exists, and every time you come back, I’m reminded of it all over again. I’m sorry, I—I thought I could do this, but…” Priest lowered his head, and as though that train of thought was too painful for him to finish, he changed course. “We weren’t exclusive. You knew that.”
Henri clamped his teeth together in an effort to fight back the thunderous shout that wanted to escape him, and then he shoved aside the stupid, hopeful idiot who’d gotten off the plane earlier with plans to leave his past behind.
He wouldn’t be that guy. That pathetic, delusional guy who’d fallen for someone who didn’t love him back. And when he could finally bring himself to speak, he said, “I knew there were guys before me; I didn’t care. But that guy, Julien? He makes you feel guilty, Joel. It’s written all over your fucking face. That means you care, which means I’m fucked, because ultimately, it means that this is over.”
When Priest didn’t say anything, just stared at Henri’s face, Henri knew he was right and pushed for that confirmation, needing the pain that he knew would come with it, needing to hate Priest, instead of loving him.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Priest licked his lips, lips Henri would never feel against his own again, and then said in a voice that Henri had to strain to hear, “I never meant for it to happen this way.”
“But it did, didn’t it?” When Priest didn’t deny it, Henri said, “Why him and not me? He speaks French; so do I. He’s a criminal; so am I. He’s practically the L.A. version of me, but you told me you wouldn’t date a criminal. So tell me, Joel, why him? What did he do that I didn’t?”
Priest looked him dead-on then, and those steel-colored eyes were so sad that they made Henri’s heart ache all the more.